


My Protector.

by MiracoloDiGigi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Father Figures, Fluff and Mush, Gay Male Character, Gen, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, References to Depression, Self Prompt, Self-Insert, Trans Male Character, Transgender, Transphobia, Verbal Abuse, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 03:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10778487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiracoloDiGigi/pseuds/MiracoloDiGigi
Summary: A young, football fan throwing himself into football to avoid reality, only to find himself on the journey of a lifetime.





	1. My First Love

I'd been a football fan since I was a kid. It came with the background, really. My mom and dad were both born in Portugal, as were my grandparents, and their parents, and so on. I was the first one in the family not born in Portugal, but I embraced the culture right from the beginning, from the food, to the music, to the love of football. Only, my love of football grew in my teenage years. Up until then, I'd play house league football and watch the big competitions, cheer for Portugal, and nothing more. I just didn't have any interest, unless it was for my country. I supported Portugal to the very end, but absolutely despised Cristiano Ronaldo for replacing my beloved Luis Figo, the only footballer I'd ever loved in my childhood. That was until last year, anyway. 

During the 2016 EUROs. I got home from from school and checked what games were on, and just found myself watching the Italy vs. Spain match. I don't know why. I guess it was because I was excited to see the Italians — Portugal's arch rival in the footballing world, of course — undergo a huge loss against Spain like in 2012. But that wasn't the case. No, I was surprised to see them come out on top, by far. Seeing the players dog pile on each other when goals were scored made my heart swell. I'd never seen the Portuguese team react to scoring a goal so passionately, and I thought it was the coolest thing, seeing how close these men were. They were one big family. And I was drawn to one of these men in specific. The camera focused on him a lot, too. I later learned that that was because of his legendary status, but while watching that match, all I could think was "he's pretty hot." That man was Gianluigi Buffon, and little did I know that this one match would send me on the journey of a lifetime.

From there, I watched the next Azzurri match, in secret. I couldn't have my parents knowing I cared about the team at all. That would be the biggest stab in the back you could ever imagine in a Portuguese household. So, I watched in secret. I damn near had a heart attack when it came to the shootout, too. I hated Germany, and I was growing attached to Italy. Not to mention I was a goalkeeper myself, and I knew how bad shootouts were. Despite only having watched two of their games — including this one — my heart shattered as Germany managed to snag the winning goal, on such a cheap shot that managed to wriggle beneath Buffon. Seeing the attractive goalkeeper in tears after the game had me bawling. 

After that match, I brought myself to sift through all the photos, videos and gifs of his angelic tear streaked face in order to do some research. Just the basics. His age, his club, some stats... And then came the videos. The first one was the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. God, his voice was hot. From there, it was highlights with Juventus and Italy, then some post-match interviews, then some fun ads from earlier on in his career. I was absolutely floored by the highlights. As far as I was concerned, he was the best goalkeeper in the world, even if I couldn't name any other goalkeepers, besides Neuer — and I didn't say Buffon was better because of my hatred for Neuer, either. I loved every moment of the videos. And, I wasted a solid two months of my summer watching video upon video of the man, falling more and more in love with him. I even fell in love with Juventus in the process, staying up all hours of the night to watch the International Champions Cup matches, despite knowing Gigi wouldn't be playing. I was hooked, within a span of 90 minutes that was the Italy vs. Spain match. I didn't even care that Portugal had finally won something, my focus was only on that Italian goalkeeper and the other boys in black and white. 

In that time, I found my anxiety lessening, as well as my depression, and instead there was a boost in my motivation. I wanted to be like Gigi. I was a goalkeeper, too, and I was good. All I needed was some more work, and I could do it, so I put myself to the test. That summer wasn't the best in terms of football. We lost a lot of matches because we had such poor defense, — I blamed myself, though, of course — and I considered giving up several times but I always came back around to Gigi and wanting to be like him. Not to mention I had read about his depression and how he too was very critical of myself. I could relate to him, more than I thought possible at first. And, he had overcome his issues, so I could, too. He was my hero and my motivation. I worked and trained hard on my own. I joined a goalkeeper training camp in the winter with a former West Ham goalkeeper, — there was only so much you could do in the winter in Canada — and trained every weekend with some other kids. When I was at home, I'd head down to the "gym" in my basement, and practice some goalkeeping techniques. I was doing something. Something to push me closer to the goal I so desperately wanted to achieve. But, truthfully, I still didn't know how to go about achieving this goal. I guess my plan was to try out for the school team and maybe a rep team... Maybe I could get a scholarship from it, and it would propel me into stardom? I didn't know. It was a shot in the dark, because my family didn't support my dream at all, — I mean, as far as they were concerned, I was their little girl, it didn't matter that I had already been on testosterone, transitioning and everything, they insisted I was a woman, and women "couldn't make it big in football" — but I could live with that. I was passionate about the sport, and determined to prove my family wrong. 

And then one day I came across a Juventus Camp ad. It was an opportunity for young footballers to train alongside certified Juventus coaches, and, at the end of the allotted sessions, the best of the best would be chosen for a trip to Turin, Italy to train in Vinovo, and meet some of the players. I had even heard rumors that if you really were amazing, they'd consider signing you to their youth ranks. That was pretty unlikely, though. I doubted myself to begin with, and I came up with practically every reason as to why I shouldn't attend. That was my problem. I was always overthinking everything until I just discouraged myself from making the choice entirely. But in the end... It was still a chance to further my abilities, so I took the chance, and I signed up, — after some convincing to get my parents on board — pushing myself out of my comfort zone. I kept telling myself it wouldn't be that bad, and that I could do this... After all, Gigi was on the front of the ad.


	2. Training Camp

The first day of training camp, I was, simply put, a little ball of anxiety. I wanted to hide away at every opportunity I had, but, of course, I was singled out. Only two of us were goalkeepers in my group, and that meant all eyes would be on the two of us on more than one occasion. I could live with that if it was during a match, but this wasn’t a match. I was surrounded by professionals and other kids, and I needed to impress if I wanted to make it to Italy in the end, although that just seemed like a dream to me at this point. Why would they want me? The other ‘keeper was so much better than me. At least in my mind he was. He had had proper training in the past, unlike me. Most of what I did, I learned from observing Gigi, and my time spent at training in the winter was spent really just trying to improve what I already knew. He knew the proper techniques, I just did whatever I could to keep the ball out of my net. So, rather than actually focusing on Italy, my goal was just to learn and try my best.

After the first day, things got a little easier. I mean, I’d have to see these people and train with them for the rest of the week, so I needed to come to terms with this. It got easier as I began to talk to the other kids. We all had the love of Juventus in common, and that helped with my anxiety a whole lot. The coaches were a great help, as well. They were all very calm and kind, however they were still strict and they knew what they wanted. They picked on me a lot because of my lack of training, and it really made me panic in the beginning, but one of the coaches must’ve noticed, because he pulled me aside, and said something I’d never forget — “You’re a fantastic goalkeeper with a lot of potential, and I want to help you improve. That’s what you’re here for, anyway. To learn. Don’t worry about impressing anyone else, you’ve already done that. Listen to me, and do your best. Don’t deviate too much, because what you’re doing is already amazing.”

I repeated those words to myself every time I stepped between the sticks, and I did just what that coach told me to do. He took it upon himself to work with me in specific rather than the other kid, who, I was noticing, was extremely cocky because he had had that extra training in the past. By the end of the week, I was speaking to that coach like I had known him for years, the anxiety long since forgotten about — I’d learned a lot from him, and he made sure I wasn’t being too critical of myself. It was truly amazing how much I had improved in that week, too. I no longer had that fear of leaving the ground when diving, which was the most important thing to me going into this, and I was pulling off saves that I had seen professional goalkeepers make as well. At this point, it didn’t even matter if I was one of the kids chosen to go to Vinovo. I had had so much fun, and I’d learned a lot, and that was what mattered to me in the end.

On the last day of training, I was actually kind of sad this was over. As far as I was concerned, I wasn’t going to Italy, but that didn’t bother me anymore. I was just sad that this experience was over. It was so amazing, training with these professional coaches and other kids who were so passionate about Juve and the sport. Not to mention I got to wear an official Juve kit. That was awesome. Every time I put it on, I had to internalize the urge to squeal like a teenage girl.

When we’d finished showering and changing, we were to meet in the cafeteria area because the head coach was to make his selection as to who would be heading to Vinovo. I was practically the first one there, sitting right at the front, sporting my backwards Toronto FC snapback — I had yet to find a Juve one, and I did need to support my local team as well, you know? Soon, the other kids were coming out of the locker rooms, finding places to sit with their friends. I hadn’t made any friends, really, along the way, but that didn’t bother me too much. I cast the occasional glance backwards as people entered, actually a bit shocked by how many people were at this camp. When we trained, we were in groups of twelve people or so, but seeing everyone together? It was unreal how large this group was. Now I definitely wouldn’t be going to Vinovo. I pushed that thought aside, though, as I listened to the boss discuss how enjoyable this year’s camp was, and how impressed he was by the lot of us. I wanted to roll my eyes — this was the typical bullshit every coach said at the end of the season, I could’ve sworn this was actually scripted — but instead, I remained focused and watched the man in front of me, intently, waiting until he spoke up about the selection. And that time couldn’t have come sooner, either.

“Alright, so, as you all know, the coaches and I have come together to discuss who our brightest stars have been this past week. And not just based on skills, but also on fair play and attitude on the pitch. Let me tell you, it was a hard decision to make. There were a lot of amazing kids in the group this year. So, if you weren’t selected to travel to Turin, don’t take it personally. It’s been a pleasure to work with each and every one of you, and, on behalf of all our coaching staff, I want to reassure all of you to continue following your footballing dreams, because I saw a lot of amazing players out there. But, without further ado… Here are our winners.”

At that point, my heart was racing. I knew I wasn’t going to get picked, but that sliver of hope left in me made me so excited to hear the names. Most of the kids he named were older, — obviously, you couldn’t pick one of the five or six-year-olds to go, that would be a hassle — and they were the ones I’d suspected; strikers who scored a shit ton of goals, and defenders who might as well have been brick walls. Some of them I didn’t know, but those I did fit the bill perfectly. When names were called, the kids would generally jump up and cheer, and their friends would clap and pat them on the back, but everyone was for the most part very polite as the boss continued reading. He was coming to the end of the list, now, and I let out a little huff, knowing this was it, and I got to tell my parents I failed, as they had insisted I would, right from the beginning. I was already leaning over to pick up my backpack when the boss spoke the final name.

"Last but not least... Zak Baptista."

Hearing the name made me freeze in the middle of what I was doing, my eyes going wide. I had heard that correctly, didn't I? Had he just spoken my name on the list of people going to Vinovo? I didn't even know how to react, too stunned to do anything besides sort of just stare with my jaw hanging wide open. There were a couple of congratulatory pats on my back, but I hardly even noticed.

The reality of my situation didn't set in until I was making my way out of the facility to the car. The whole family had come to pick me up, of course, and they all wore those fake hopeful smiles of theirs as I approached them, my bag slung over my shoulder.

"Well?" My mom broke the silence first, watching me expectantly.

I didn't answer right away, looking between her, my dad and my little brother.

"She didn't get it." My brother remarked with a smirk.

I didn't even notice he had said 'she'. Normally, I would've corrected him and the rest of my family for misgendering me as they did repeatedly, but that was the least of my concerns.

I just shook my head at my brother, then abruptly broke out into a grin as I cheered. "I'm going to Vinovo!"

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is just a self insert fic )with an OC that is basically me) that allows me to vent and cope with my current situation. More will be revealed to explain the title and tags as I continue to write. 
> 
> Everything in this chapter up until the Juventus Camp ad is actually what I experienced. I would've joined the camp if I wasn't too old for it, though!
> 
> Please don't hate on this because it really does help me in the end.


End file.
